They stood, three large men ready for action. They stilled, however, when Button raised a languid hand.
“I can see we are about to be honored with a diverting exhibition of manliness, and I am never averse to such an amusing display of . . . plumage, but I have one question. Precisely how do you intend to convince the lady to cooperate, my lord?”
Jack’s eyes were as dark as night. “I don’t.”
In the yard of the mews, Bailiwick struggled to control Balthazar’s uninhibited attempts to avoid being bridled. The giant white horse was resentful and scheming at the best of times, but Bailiwick loved his valiant, willful friend.
Nevertheless, Bailiwick currently wished he could fling a saddle on Evan’s faithful Ramses and be done with it. Ramses, thankfully, had no idea of such feelings or the mild-mannered gelding would have fainted dead away at the notion. No horse could carry Bailiwick except the mighty Balthazar.
At the moment, however, Balthazar wasn’t in the mood. As he battled with his obstinate horse, Bailiwick felt Fiona traveling farther away with every breath he took. His chest tightened correspondingly. At last he muscled the great, bony white head close to his and glared into Balthazar’s wicked brown eye.
“She’s gettin’ away, you big lout! Fiona’s leavin’ me and you’re me only hope for gettin’ her back! So open your bloody great teeth and take the bloomin’ bit!”
Slowly, Balthazar dropped his long white lashes low on his eye and opened his mouth wide. Bailiwick didn’t waste a moment. He thrust the metal bit deep behind Balthazar’s huge yellow teeth and quickly fixed the buckle of the bridle behind the velvety ears that now tilted urgently at him as if to say, “Hurry up! We’ve a girl to catch!”
Once the bridle was on, Balthazar began to trot from the yard. Unfortunately, he had neither a saddle nor Bailiwick upon his back.
Still holding the reins, Bailiwick ran alongside, then threw himself bodily across Balthazar’s back. “That’s right, lad! We don’t need the bloody saddle!”
Sometime between flinging his leg over the great wide back and sitting up straight, Bailiwick found himself traveling at a full gallop. Since Balthazar’s stride was half again the length of a normal horse, that gallop was frighteningly impressive.
Bailiwick only grinned into the fierce wind of their passing. “I’m coming for you, Fiona!”
Though Fiona had ridden away seated on the back of the tinker’s wagon hours before, nestled between dangling, banging pots and pans to be repaired and resold, the wagon traveled slowly. Balthazar traveled like a wildfire before a gale. Dodging carts and carriages, deftly bounding around and occasionally over startled pedestrians, Balthazar carried Bailiwick through Mayfair and into the western part of the city in less than a quarter of an hour. Bailiwick felt bad about those folk at the market and he was sure Wilberforce would somehow hear about the baker’s cart and all those loaves crumbling beneath great speckled hooves, but now they had reached the outskirts of urban restraint and there was nothing and no one before them on the open road.
There was no need for spurs. Balthazar set sail before the wind. Bailiwick leaned low and held on tight.
Far down the road, hours outside the city, Fiona shifted her sore buttocks on the hard seat and let out another sigh. She was no stranger to bumping down the road in some highly inconvenient conveyance. She’d been doing it most of her life, after all. However, there was a splinter of wood digging into her thigh and she was getting full dust seated facing backward with her feet dangling off the end.
Brown’s had been so nice, so clean and comfortable and merry. The ladies were lovely to her and she’d never eaten food like that in her life! Three times a day, too!
“It’s just as well,” she told herself out loud, “for ye’d be gettin’ fat as old Pomme’s wife and who’d look at ye then?”
Bailiwick. Her sweet Johnny would look at her. Her big, bashful giant would watch her walk past with a shine of hunger in his eyes that nearly took her breath away at the memory of it. She’d wanted to find out what that hunger meant, but he’d pushed her away like he couldn’t bear the touch of her.
The first time she’d seen her handsome Johnny, she’d been cornered on the road with two of her friends, the victims of a bandit’s filthy sense of humor. Along had come Johnny Bailiwick, thundering down the road like an avenging angel mounted on a great white steed. He’d ridden through that band of ruffians like a ball striking the bowling pins, sending them spinning off in every direction. Fiona smiled a bit damply at the memory. She could almost hear those mighty hoofbeats now.
Ba-ba-da-dum. Ba-ba-da-dum.
Fiona raised her head, startled. She could hear hoofbeats!
Ba-ba-da-dum. Ba-ba-da-dum.
As she gazed back down the road toward the sound, squinting into the afternoon light, she thought she might see a postboy on a courier horse, or even a lord out for a gallop. Never did she think she’d see her Johnny, racing up the road on his great white steed!
He looked so big and handsome, like a knight out to slay dragons! Inside Fiona’s hardened, road-wise shell, her girlishly romantic heart thudded like she rode a dangerous mount of her own!
Johnny came after me.
The tinker, startled by what sounded like an army flying down the road behind him, pulled his elderly draft horse to one side of the road to wait for it to pass. As soon as the wheels slowed, Fiona bounced herself off and landed on her feet in the dust, fixing the strap of her bundle diagonally across her bosom. She set off into a run, her bright skirts flying like a flag at a jousting match.
Balthazar didn’t even slow his pace. Fiona smiled into the oncoming equine storm and held one hand trustingly up in the air.
Johnny’s big hand came down and wrapped itself around her upper arm. With Balthazar’s next great leap, Fiona found herself lifted into the air to come down seated across the big horse’s withers, wrapped in her big Johnny’s arms. Turning into him, she twined her arms about his neck.
Balthazar slowed at last, his relentless gallop softening as he moved in a great circling turn. Bailiwick leaned back to gaze down into Fiona’s beautiful face. “I love you,” he said bluntly.
Fiona smiled up at him. “Aye, and I love ye too, ye great fool.”
Bailiwick scowled down at her. “No more of your flirtin’ now. You’re mine, you hear? My woman! My wife!” He brought his mouth down on hers for a bruising kiss. Then he lifted his head. “Now don’t you ever forget it!”
Fiona gaped, her mouth opening and closing. “W–wife?”
Bailiwick lifted his chin. “I got no ring for you now, but I’ve been promoted, I have. I’ll have the finest gold ring you every saw, as soon as I become head footman of Brown’s!”
Fiona only blinked at him. “Wife?”
Bailiwick frowned down at her. “Yes. Wife. Be there somethin’ wrong with that?”
She licked her lips. “Not sneakin’ about? Not climbin’ back into me cold bed alone afterward?” She frowned slightly. “Will ye be wantin’ children, then?”
Bailiwick cleared his throat. “Yes. Or no. Whatever you’ll be wantin’.”
“Whatever I’ll be wantin’?” Fiona smiled, then wrapped her arms about his waist and pressed her ear to his pounding heart. “Mr. Johnny Bailiwick, there’ll be children spillin’ into St. James Street and all, there will!”
Bailiwick’s arms tightened around her until she could hardly breathe. Who needed breath when she had her own personal knight in shining livery?
Johnny’s deep voice rumbled through her body, making her close her eyes in pleasure.
“Will you be wantin’ to start those children soon, Fi?” Johnny’s big hands tightened on her waist. “Because Balthazar’s a big horse. You could practically lie down on top of a horse this size.”
Thirty-two
In the slanting afternoon light, Laurel stood on the docks with her daughter’s tiny hand in hers and their rather pathetic pile of belongings beside them. Most of it was Melody’
s. They’d had to leave many of her toys behind and some of her beautiful dresses, but there was no use for lace dresses where they were going.
Laurel had emptied her small account and purchased passage for two to the farthest, warmest destination the shipping office could provide that day. As she waited for the purser to find her and help her and Melody onto the ship, Laurel watched men carrying crate after crate past them, over the plank and onto the waiting ship.
It wasn’t until a dozen had passed that Laurel’s gaze actually focused on to the name stenciled on the sides of the crates.
Honor’s Thunder.
“Why does that name sound so familiar?” she murmured to herself.
“Because it is my flagship,” came a deep voice behind her.
Laurel whirled to see Jack, looking dark and dashing in a wool sailor’s coat, a seaman’s cap upon his head. He gazed at her as the wind off the Thames whipped her hair from its pins and teased it around the sides of her bonnet.
He looked so handsome Laurel’s heart couldn’t decide whether to stop or beat double time.
“What—what are you doing here?”
He looked past her at the ship. “Wilberforce told me where you’d gone. He can be quite devious sometimes.” He turned his gaze back to her. “He recommended this particular ship, didn’t he?”
Laurel nodded. “It is yours. It’s the Dishonor’s Plunder, isn’t it?”
Jack smiled. It was a sad, barely there thing, yet her heart sang to see it. Jack was coming home at last. She was glad of it.
He would need everything that lay within him to withstand the loss of his daughter.
“It isn’t my ship,” Jack said evenly. “It is yours.”
Laurel blinked. “What does that mean?”
He looked down at Melody and smiled. The love and sadness in his eyes made Laurel ache. “I give her to you,” he said quietly. Then he raised his gaze to meet hers. “I give it all to you. Melody. My ships. Everything in my accounts. I would give you Strickland itself if it were not entailed, but you may live there undisturbed by me, if you like.”
Laurel couldn’t take his words in. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“It might be easier if you took my name, but I promise it would be marriage in name only. Still, it would afford you all the protection of my rank and Melody would become legitimate.”
Laurel felt dizzy. “Jack, shut up! Tell me what you mean!”
He took three steps toward her, just close enough to reach out to touch her flying hair. “I mean,” he said softly, “that everything I have is yours. Take it. Be happy. Be . . .” His voice failed him for a long moment. “Be free.”
The purser came then. He nodded deferentially to Jack. “Ready when you are, miss.”
“ ‘My lady,’ ” Jack corrected him. “Ready when you are, my lady.”
Then Jack knelt and kissed Melody quickly. “You’re going to have a marvelous journey, Lady Melody.”
“Are you coming, too, Papa? Can we skewer some pirates?”
Jack faltered then, for the first time. He looked away for a long moment, entirely unable to speak. Laurel ached for him. Then he mustered up a near smile and kissed Melody again. “No, little one. I am not. You’ll have to fight Black Pete without me this time.”
Then he stood and backed away along the docks. The fog was naught but wisps and he stood out like a dark statue in the white.
Their luggage was already being put on the ship. Laurel picked Melody up and turned away from Jack, walking with determination to the boarding plank, over it, and beyond.
If it was true, she had the entire world before her now. If Jack’s word was true, she had everything she could ever want.
On the ship, they were shown to a small but comfortable cabin. Melody ran about, exploring every nook and cranny, Gordy Ann tucked in her armpit.
Laurel sat on the bunk, which probably would have been small for a man but would easily accommodate herself and the twelve-monkey marching band for the next several weeks. Weariness drained her at the thought.
What are you doing?
I am taking my daughter away, just as I planned.
But why?
Because . . . because I am done with someone else deciding my destiny. I am done with being manipulated and lied to and stolen from—
I give it all to you.
His face as he’d stood there in the mist . . . the stark resignation, the open acceptance of her plans, the selfless generosity of wanting her and Melody to have the very best . . .
Are. You. Out. Of. Your. Tiny. Little. Mind?
A small laugh burst from Laurel’s lips.
I think I am a bit mad.
I think I am mad for that strange, complicated scoundrel of a man!
She felt the ship lurch beneath her feet. They were moving! She ran to the deck, Melody fast behind her. There were already fifty yards of water between the ship and the docks!
Jack stayed where he was and watched the ship move out from the docks. The wispy fog gradually came between himself and everything he loved best in the world, reducing the ship to a ghostly outline. How appropriate. That was what his life would be like from this day forward, nothing but a ghostly outline.
“It’s gone, Papa. Why are you still looking?”
Jack’s heart stopped at the piping voice at his side. He looked down in shock to see Melody standing beside him, her finger firmly in her mouth as she looked up at him. She pulled it out and pointed it out to sea. “I waved bye-bye. So did Mama.”
Jack jerked his stunned gaze up to see Laurel standing a few feet away, her trailing wisps of hair not able to hide the wide smile on her face.
His breath left him in a burst. “But . . . I saw you go—”
Her smile widened. “I’ve never owned a ship before. Did you know you could order a sailor to bring you back in a dinghy even after the ship already set sail?” She leaned closer. “I promised him fifty pounds. It’s a shameless ransom, but then again, I’m a very rich woman, aren’t I?”
Jack could scarcely breathe. “Then, you’ll stay in England? I can see Melody sometimes?”
Laurel snorted. “I should say so. I’m not going to be the one emptying the blasted kitten’s litter pan every morning!”
The world went very still around Jack. Even the choppy river waves froze. Did she . . . was she—
Laurel moved close to him, then closer still. She went up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Ask again.”
His heart thudded once. Then again. Then, for the first time in years, it beat in a normal, happy rhythm.
“Will you wed me, Bramble?”
“No,” she said with a brilliant smile, “but you may wed me, if you like.”
Jack felt a little monkey hand tugging at his coat. He looked down to see Melody gazing up at him.
“Papa, can we get merry now?”
Epilogue
Jack rolled over and wrapped his arm about his wife. Laurel melted into the curve of his body. “Hmm.”
Jack kissed her bare shoulder. “Good morning, my lady.”
“Is it morning already?” She turned her face into the pillow. “It can’t be. I declare that morning won’t start until I’ve completely recovered.”
Jack chuckled. “Oh, come now. It wasn’t that bad.”
Laurel turned her head to shoot him a grumpy glance. “I’m absolutely throbbing.”
“Hmm.” He ground his body into her bottom gently. “I know the feeling.”
Slapping at him, she laughed. “There is more to life than can be found in bed, my lord.”
“True, but why bother? Bed is wonderful. I wish I could live out the rest of my life in bed with you.”
She snorted. “A short life.”
“Yes, but I’m willing to make that sacrifice.” He gnawed gently on that same shoulder and enfolded a warm breast in his large hand. “Wouldn’t you like to go out in flames with me?”
He could tell by the way she started to writhe to
his touch that warm, wet delights were soon to be his once more.
Rolling her atop him, he brought her mouth down to his, wrapping his hands around her jaw. She spread herself upon him, all heated and soft and marvelously Laurel.
A great crashing sound came from the next chamber.
“Ignore it,” Jack murmured into Laurel’s mouth.
Indignant yowling cut the sleepy morning air, followed quickly by happy, high-pitched barking.
“Bad puppy! Bad!”
“I don’t hear a thing,” Laurel sighed back.
“Mama! Genghis broke the china!”
Jack felt Laurel’s snicker start deep. Smiling in resignation, he let his head fall back when she began to howl with laughter into his neck. Listening to Laurel laugh was every bit as satisfying as making love to her.
She rolled her warm, lovely body from his. “We might want to consider moving to Strickland House.”
Jack went up on his elbows, so as not to miss the entertaining view of Laurel dressing. “You say that every morning and then you always say—”
“I just can’t imagine leaving Brown’s.” Laurel smiled at her handsome husband. His dark, tousled hair was still too long, but happiness had filled in his hollow cheeks and driven the shadows from his eyes. The nightmares came rarely now, and when they did she held him close until they passed.
“I had a thought,” she said casually as she tied the bow at the neck of her chemise. She glanced sideways at him, gauging her tone. “I wondered . . .”
Jack sat up. “Speak, Laurel.”
Giving up her casual pretense, she climbed back onto the bed and took his hand. Gazing into those dark eyes that had finally learned to laugh again, she took a deep breath.
“I thought that perhaps you ought to seek out the men who you saved that night, the ones you led back over the line.”
His eyes darkened at the memory and she rushed on. “I just thought . . . if you could see them now, alive and well, that you could see that you had to do it and—”
He kissed her words away. Then he drew back and smiled sadly at her. “My love, I know that already.” He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. “Even if I could turn back time, I would still make the same decisions. What had to be came to be.”
Scoundrel in My Dreams Page 27
